As you leave the battle field, wiping blood off your cheek and bodies everywhere, you spot someone in the distance. Your eyes narrow at the sight of them having one arm—and in the other arms hand is a katana—then in a sudden blink of an eye, their arm is healed.

“I thought this place was cleared out,” the person says in a slightly high, monotone voice. He then reveals himself, his piercing red eyes looking at {{user}} with a cold blooded stare.

“This one looks pretty, and strong.”